Jon is weary from travel when he arrives in the Eyrie. He is more weary still of the man he'd come to meet. Jon had come to rely on Ser Davos to conduct his diplomatic affairs, but he is on his own with this. Three times he has cheated death and been brought back with dark magic but he cannot run away from Lord Baelish's daughter. The King in the North must do his duty, for though the war had been won Spring was still just a dream. His people needed to eat and the bounty of the Vale would be his if he took the daughter of its Lord Protector to wed.

The journey may have been long, but he had not thought much of the maid that was to be his queen. Traversing the vast country on horseback and taking in his devastated kingdom he thought only of how long it would take to rebuild.

So he is surprised when her face stirs something in him. She is a ghost of something. Of what, he cannot say. Death has eaten away at the memories he'd held closest to his heart until all that was left inside him was the war.

"Have we met?" he asks her.

"I don't know how that would be possible," her father says.

But there is something in Lord Baelish's eyes that Jon does not trust, so he turns again to Alayne.

"You've never been to the North? Before the war?"

Alayne shakes her head and gives him the sweetest of smiles.

"Maybe in another life."

"My King," Alayne says when he finds her in the courtyard, bending her knees to curtsy.

The corners of her eyes crease when she smiles but Jon can never tell what is going on behind them. He gulps down air. "There's no need for such formality. You're not my subject yet."

"But I'll be yours soon enough."

He is not skilled with words or flirting, and he finds himself at a loss once again, wanting to impress her. Or at least not to disappoint her. He remembers no women, though Sam had told him there had been one before. Most of the girls who fought in the war had been wights, and love had seemed such a small thing when he was trying to balance the fate of humanity on his shoulders.

"I meant to give you the royal decree," he says when he remembers the reason he'd invented to seek her out. "Your legitimization."

Jon extends his hand to pass her the parchment, but she waves it away.

"I have no desire to bear any name but yours," she says. At first he wonders if this too is flirtation but her face is suddenly solemn. "I'm a Stone, not a Baelish."

"Your father seemed quite keen," he manages, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"Do you take offence to the prospect of a bastard queen?" she asks, her jaw set.

"Of course not."

Alayne straightens her spine and exhales softly. It only takes a moment before that same smile comes across her face once more. She links her arm through his, "shall we take a turn around the Godswood, then? I'm getting cold just standing here."

At their wedding feast, Alayne makes the rounds between tables of guests. She has many friends, but Mya and Myranda were the closest to her heart. In turn, each of them had given him strict warnings on how he was to treat his wife. Jon watches her embracing Mya as he sits beside her father at the head table. Lord Baelish talks to him at length, but he is a slimy creature and Jon gives little more than perfunctory grunts. He only has eyes for Alayne.

She throws her head back and laughs. She whispers in her friends' ears with a wild look in her eye. Not for the first time he wonders what she's thinking. He itches to be entrusted with her secrets.

When she makes her way back to the table she kisses him on the cheek as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He can smell the wine on her breath. He wonders what her mouth tastes like.

Everything had been such a struggle before. He hadn't quite known how heavy everything was until his troubles began to be lifted. Alayne laughs and takes his hand in hers under the table and for the first time in ages he doesn't feel tired.

"Dance with me," she whispers in his ear, her lips grazing his jaw.

"I'm a little out of practice," he says, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"I can teach you."

"It's a tempting offer," he starts, and before he can refuse once more she takes him by the hand and pulls from his seat to the dance floor. When she looks back at him, biting her bottom lip as she grins, he knows there is little he will be able to refuse his new bride.

There isn't much to it. She leads and he follows along, some of it coming back to him. A sister had taught him once, one of his sisters. Arya, he thinks, and the thought of her fills him with warmth. No. Not Arya. Sansa.

"My friend Myranda says men make love like they dance," Alayne says, bringing him back to the present.

He swallows. Jon knows his bride is well into her cups, but still he doesn't know how to respond. How does one talk to a lady? How does one talk to their wife? "Oh?"

"But my other friend, and she knows more about these things, she said men make love like they fight."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know," Alayne says, pulling back slightly to look him dead in the eye. Her voice is different now, coquettish rather than confident though she does not stumble over her words. "I suppose I'll find out soon."

Jon's jaw twitches. "I don't think you've ever seen me fight, my lady."

He can feel Alayne's breath on his neck as she sighs and gives him a dreamy look.

"No, but I've heard the songs. I knew you'd come for me."

There is something haunting about the way she says it, but her face is nothing but serene.

Despite Alayne's father's insistence, there is no proper bedding. Lord Baelish seemed a little too excited about the prospect of helping to undress his daughter. "No man will touch my wife except me, Lord Baelish," Jon says, too irritated by the man to remember he is necessary to rebuild the North. "Not unless he wants a broken jaw."

When they are alone, Alayne comes to him first. Her kisses are innocent but he feels like he has waited years to finally taste her, and so his tongue is rough when he slides it into her mouth.

He wonders if he was too rough, but when he pulls away she is grinning. He's grown very fond of her smiles. She is generous with them.

She leans in again and takes her upper lip between his teeth and she sighs against him. He thinks he could spend hours doing just this, feeling her go slack in his arms as he kisses her.

He starts to toy with the lacing of her corset, but he struggles with the mechanics of her dress.

"Let me undress for you," she says, pushing him back to her bed. He sits dutifully on and watches. He finds it much more enjoyable than watching on as a crowd undressed her while he was helpless to stop them.

She's beautiful. Standing naked before him, she is vulnerable but brave. He is wonderstruck, and he drops to his knees at her feet.

"What are you? Oh. Oh."

Her hands run through his long hair, and she pulls hard when she peaks. He likes the pain. He likes the taste of her. He likes feeling her come against his tongue.

"Was that alright?" Jon mumbles to her afterwards, when their bodies are tangled together under thick furs. He'd gotten a little carried away.

"It was lovely."

"There wasn't any… pain?"

"No," she says softly.

He is too tired to speak but she doesn't seem to mind. The short silences that fall between them are surprisingly comfortable for how little time they've spent together.

Jon runs his hand through her hair and kisses the top of her head. It is easy. He can't remember how he'd ever fallen asleep without her naked body pressed against his. He hadn't dreamt at all since his first death but there's something dreamlike about the way she plays with the hair on his chest.

In the morning, he reaches for her but her side of the bed is empty. He opens his eyes and she is gone. He can hear a faint noise. Naked, he follows the sound and realizes his wife is singing. Her voice is soft and sweet and fills him with nostalgia.

He pushes open the door to the adjoining chamber to find Alayne in the bath. She is something to behold, one leg draped over the tub, the ends of her long hair immersed in the water.

And then he realizes. She's singing about him. He can't help but laugh.

She jumps at the sound. She glances over at him and grumbles, "is something funny, your grace?"

"It's funny how you make it bearable."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I can't usually stand to listen to it. The 'song of ice and fire'. It seems so silly. But it sounds nice when you sing it."

He glances down at her and his mouth goes dry. She had been beautiful in the candlelight, but this is different. Natural light shines down on her, illuminating her body. He can see everything.

"Well, I like the song," she says. She slides herself back and exposes her breasts to the air. He can't help but stare, losing track of what they were talking about. He wants nothing more than to feel her weight on top of him, to feel her clench down around his cock. He grows hard at the thought.

"Are you going to join me?" she asks. When he looks up to her eyes he sees her looking at him with the same hunger.

"You mean to leave me here?" Alayne asks, sounding much younger than her eighteen years.

"Your father thought it best."

"My father thought it best," she repeats in disbelief. She looks up at him with watery eyes. "And you agreed?"

"This was always the arrangement."

"No. I will not stay behind," Alayne says, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders.

"I'm meant to make a tour of the north. It'll be months before I'm home. Your father thought you'd prefer to stay with him," he says, though he doesn't know why he's arguing for her father. He knows he'd prefer her to be keeping him company on the journey and warming his bed at night.

She juts out her chin. "I am your wife. Your queen. I belong at your side."

Jon furrows his brow. He'd assumed Baelish told her. He can't stand to see her like this, but it really is for the best. "My castle is in ruins. The North is an unforgiving place, my lady. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed when you see it."

"I'm sure I've seen worse," Alayne says. "I have survived worse. I'm not some high lady who needs to be fed lemoncakes and be doted on…" Though her voice wavers, she has set her jaw. "Take me home with you."

He wonders how he could have broken her heart, having met her not even a fortnight before. She had been wild and alive but he realizes now that she has a tender heart and he must be gentle with it. He's not good at this, he's bound to fumble, but he will try.

He nods.

"Aye, my lady. As you command."

When Jon finally made his way to their guest chambers after a long, meandering and ultimately pointless discussion with their host, he finds his wife waiting for him. The Stark cloak was draped around her shoulders, white and lined with fur. The same one he'd claimed her with at their wedding. She is wearing nothing else. He groans as blood rushes to his cock.

"I was waiting a long time," she says, as he moves towards her.

He kisses her urgently, a hand moving to take a breast in hand. He rubs his thumb against her nipple, hard from the cold air. Alayne puts her hand over his and brings it in between her legs. She is wet, and he realizes what she'd been doing as he'd discussed modern accounting practices with the Cerwyn's steward. He is painfully hard. She grinds against his hand and he pushes two fingers into her.

"I've already taken care of myself. Because you kept me waiting."

"If only I weren't a king."

Alayne takes his hand once more and brings it to her mouth. She sucks on the fingers that are still wet from her. Her tongue is soft against his skin. He groans once more.

"How can I make it up to you?"

"I want to watch you take off your clothes," she says when she pulls his fingers from her mouth.

He nods, and eagerly begins pulling off his jerkin, letting it fall to the floor before he loosens his shirt.

"Jon?"

"Hmmm?"

"Keep your fur on. It's cold and…" her eyes ran down to his exposed abdomen, "it looks good on you."

He does as he's bid.

Afterwards, her fingers trace the scars on his chest. She doesn't ask, she's heard the stories. Everyone has.

"I'm glad you came back from the dead," she says. "I'm glad I got to meet Jon Stark."

"I'm glad I got to meet Alayne Stark."

She grins. "I'm glad to be a Stark."

"Me too," he says before it hits him the same way it always did. He'd got what he'd always wanted. He was a Stark, Lord of Winterfell. But only because they were all dead. He'd never get to see any of them again, and that had been the whole point. To be one of them, to belong.

Somehow Alayne can sense it, for her voice is tender now. "Do you miss them?"

What can he say? Once he'd had a family. He can barely remember them now, though gods know he tries. There was a sister who used to chase him around the castle, who was always getting into trouble. A sister he'd died for. He remembers his little brother's face best. Rickon. Whose body he'd been presented with just before his coronation. That was all that came to him when he thought of his brother, dead eyes and a lifeless corpse.

"No," he says. "That's the worst part. I still miss them. But I just… I only know what people tell me. And sometimes that feels like a real memory, but I'm not sure if it is. And there's whispers sometimes, that they're not really dead. But it's been so long… I just… I would do anything to see them again."

He would have done anything for them, though he scarcely remembered why he loved them. The love was all that remained. He would happily give his life to bring any of them home. He had saved his people, but he couldn't save the ones he loved most.

Alayne's tears are wet against his chest.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, his voice soft. He hadn't meant to make her sad. She made him so happy, he wanted to do the same for her.

"You saved me."

He furrows his brow. "From what?"

"I was beginning to think I would die there."

"Where?"

"With him."

"In the Vale?" he asks. She wasn't making sense.

"You never said anything," Alayne says, her voice faltering. "About… about me not being a maid."

Jon thinks back to their wedding night. He hadn't thought on it then, perhaps he hadn't wanted to realize. She hadn't bled, she hadn't felt any pain. Now, with her father hundreds of leagues away, it sinks in. Jon grinds his teeth thinking about how her father's eyes had raked over his daughter's body when he'd tried to call for the bedding ceremony. The disappointment when Jon told him no other man would ever touch her again.

"I wasn't a maid either," he somehow manages, when all he could think is I'll kill him and his blood begins to boil.

Through her tears, Alayne laughs and the sound of it pulls him out of his own head. "You won't be that kind of father."

"No," Jon says.

And suddenly he feels it. The enormity of it – it was duty, yes, but he loved her, he did. He loved her because of duty and in spite of it. Something about her was so familiar, so easy to love. It was like he'd known her all his life. And he'd love her for the rest of it if she let him.

Just before they reach Winterfell, Alayne stops. Try as he might, Jon cannot read her expression. He nods to his guard to tell them to go on without them. They sit astride their horses in silence for a long time before she comes out of her daze. He should think it odd, he knows, but he doesn't.

He thinks she's going to say something about it's state. It's never recovered from being burned. Instead she looks at him and says, "I think we'll be happy here."

Jon smiles and looks at the ground. "Let's go home," he says.

He'd never felt like a hero before, no matter how many songs were written in his honour, no matter how many crowds cheered his name. But he does now, bringing her home.

You saved me, she'd said. You saved me.

Everyone is there to greet them in the courtyard. Jon drops to his knees and Ghost runs to him. Ghost licks his face and Jon grins. "I missed you, boy."

Before Jon can turn to Alayne to introduce her, Ghost pushes past him and nuzzles his face against Alayne's stomach. Alayne scratches Ghost behind the ear. She isn't afraid of him, and he loves her at first sight.

"Do you think he can smell it?" she asks.

"Smell what?"

"The baby."

The baby.

She looks away from him, consumed with his direwolf. Ghost is as taken with her as he is, and the sight of them hits him hard in the chest. After everything, could it really be this simple?

Jon is surprised to find Alayne in the godswood. He hadn't thought he would find her kneeling under the heart tree, for his southron wife must keep the new gods if she kept any.

When she turns to face him, he can't help but think she might be an appirition. He has known her many moons now, but he is suddenly awestruck once more by her beauty. In this light her skin was as white as the bark of the weirwood, and her hair seemed almost as red as it's leaves.

"I hadn't meant to interrupt, my lady. I'll leave you to your prayers."

She shakes her head and stands up. "No, I was almost done anyway. I'll leave you to it."

As he watches her leave something shifts in his mind.

You saved me, she'd said, you saved me.

How had he forgotten her?

You didn't, he thinks. It had been on the tip of his tongue the entire time, a part of him had always known.

"Sansa," he calls after her.

But she doesn't turn around. He calls again, his voice louder this time. Just when she is almost out of sight, she looks over her shoulder, her forehead creased in confusion.

When he looks at her now he wonders if he had been mistaken. Past the clearing, in the dark of the dense forest she looks herself once more.

"My name is Alayne," she says.

Of course it is, he thinks. "I know, I'm sorry," he says, "I just–"

I saw a ghost. He stops cold when he sees there are tears welling in her eyes. Suddenly it feels bitterly cold. A shudder passes through him. No, he thinks, I am the ghost.